


What She Knows of Love

by lapetitemort20



Series: Death of The Endless [3]
Category: Figure Skating RPF, Virtue Moir RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ballet Dancer Tessa Virtue, Based on Neil Gaiman's The Sandman, F/M, I seem to have a door theme in all my fics, Ice Skating, Life - Freeform, Love, Magical Realism, Singles Skater Scott Moir, merging timelines, sandman au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22459870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapetitemort20/pseuds/lapetitemort20
Summary: It’s true what they say when Death comes a-calling. That your entire life flashes before your eyes. Except the life he sees has only one woman in it.And it’s not the one that has come knocking.
Relationships: Scott Moir & Tessa Virtue, Scott Moir/Tessa Virtue
Series: Death of The Endless [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584133
Comments: 54
Kudos: 78





	What She Knows of Love

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks as always to RookandPawn for editing and RedRover_15 for describing something so beautifully that it gave me a wonderful base for one of my scenes.
> 
> I cried a little at the end of this fic because I hate goodbyes, but I hope you love the way I've wrapped up the ending to this series. The epilogue and fic title is my tribute to Neil Gaiman's piece 'What I Know About Love' which I have literally paraphrased here because I can't make it more beautiful than it already is but I figured it was fitting as an ending.

It’s the perfect late September morning.

Outside, the leaves paint a burnished gold, buttery amber, shimmering bronze and blood rich red landscape against the unblemished blue of the sky. He takes a deep breath. He can almost smell the crispness in the air mingled with the woodsy, camphorous scent of sweet cedar, spruce, and pine.

It reminds him of days past, when time slipped from the grasp of sticky, humid Indian summer days into the cool chill of fall. Where fleeting boyhood dreams slowly moulded themselves into solid forms of reality.

Did he dream of this? He certainly thought of this day, maybe more than he ever had the right to. 

His fingers tremble a little. He came close to it not too long ago, but he knew from the very beginning it was flawed. He’d wanted it for all the wrong reasons, but he eventually made the right choice.

One he couldn’t live without.

Another deep breath. _Where the hell is Charlie?_ He’s supposed to be helping him out right now. It’s just so typical that his brother would dump him at his hour of need.

There’s a soft rap at the door. It had better be Charlie.

“Scott?”

He knows this voice. He’d know it anywhere.

“You know you can’t be in here,” he calls out, teasingly.

There’s a heavy pause, as if the person on the other side of the door is thinking.

“It’s not quite who you’re expecting, but you said we were friends once,” comes the melodic repartée.

He flinches, as a cold pallor draws a veil across his visage. Not today. Not now.

It’s true what they say when Death comes a-calling. That your entire life flashes before your eyes. Except the life that he sees is the one that only has one woman in it.

And it’s not the one that has come knocking.

***

_Their hands are linked. Her pinky in between his forefinger and middle finger, the rest of his hand wrapping around hers. It’s an unusual hold, one they fell into by accident very early on but became much more comfortable than the normal handhold. They’ve always been different anyway. Special._

_They’re sitting by the dock of her family’s cottage, catching a quiet moment together at sunset after hours of sweltering heat and Canada Day celebrations with their families._

_“Do you think we’ll be good enough for the Olympics one day, kiddo?” he suddenly asks, wanting to say so much more._

_He’s 16, not yet a man, but no more a boy, even if he still looks like one. He feels things, acutely and heartfelt. Mostly about skating, but more than anything, about the slip of a girl who places all her trust in him. Nothing happened for him before he met her._

_“You will. I’m just coming along for the ride,” she shrugs, and leans her head against his shoulder._

_She’s only 14, but they’ve already been partners for seven years. They are at once an individual entity unto themselves, yet there’s a growing unease within her that the intensity between them might soon reach boiling point. The fact that she’s a little in love with him is changing their partnership somehow, and perhaps not for the better._

_“Don’t say that, T. You’re amazing. Even the National Ballet want you.” What he also means to say is that he wants her too. Not in a sordid, inappropriate way, but one where his heart will always be her own to keep._

_“Yeah...about that…”_

_He sits upright. “They called you back?”_

_She clears her throat slowly. “I’m going in to audition again, but they say it’s a formality. That I have a place if I want it.”_

_“And do you?”_

_The tenderness that exists between them in the fragile moments between dusk and the waxing moon swiftly melts away. The magic that hangs around them echoed by the buzzing song of cicadas now sliced through by the dull, white noise of reality._

_She looks at him through brimming tears. She loves him so much, but it’s exactly that magnetic pull she has to him that might be their downfall. Already she feels the tension that has crept into their relationship, one that’s less pure, more confusing. It makes them second guess each other._

_“It’s complicated,” she whispers, as her lips quiver, salt drops threatening, but what she really wants to say is that she does, but to all of it._

_Ballet, ice dance, a future with him._

_He stares at her for a long time, his eyes now stony and accusing. He doesn’t say a word when he picks himself up from the wooden pier and storms away, wondering how a perfect summer day could turn out so wrong, turning his back on her, maybe forever. How could she? Wasn’t he good enough for her? He bites back the burning in his throat, intent on never letting her see how heartbroken he is._

_***_

Another knock.

“You can’t hide from me, you know,” comes the silver-toned voice.

No, she found him once almost two years ago. When he had been at his lowest. When he was lost. He’s not the same person today.

Not least because of her. By her virtue, his entire life was transformed. That All Saints Day was truly a blessing. He owes her more than what he’s doing right now.

_When he sees her, he understands the weight of the past 24 hours. This is no coincidence. He finds her close to the Clock Tower, at the old port. Why he chose to walk there, he couldn’t say — perhaps it had something to do with the significance of time and how little of it he has to waste. It’s almost as if his feet led the way, one in front of the other, guided by a certainty that he can’t even be sure of._

_But there she is. Standing, waiting. For what, she doesn’t know, but she’s grasping on to a bouquet of flowers like it’s her lifeline._

_When she recognises him walking up to her, she has to catch her breath. “Scott?”_

_“Hey kiddo,” he grins sheepishly. “You got the flowers.”_

_She keeps staring at him. He’s beautiful. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but nothing comes out. She closes her jaw like a guppy, before she starts looking foolish. She’s wanted to reach out to him so many times over the years, but never knew how, or the timing hadn’t been right. It seems serendipitous that he should find her here by chance._

_“And the card. How did you know I was going to be in town performing?”_

_“A friend,” he smiles softly, gesturing to the top hat he’s holding._

_She doesn’t understand, but nods her head anyway. Maybe it’s a remnant from a Halloween costume._

_“You were phenomenal out there, by the way.”_

_Even in the hazy morning light, he can see a winsome pink tinge highlighting the apples of her cheeks. He had been struck speechless watching her performance the night before, but she’s even more striking up close._

_Her luxuriant hair is worn down in waves, her green eyes limpid, the bow of her lips full, pale skin luminous, the way in which she holds her limbs with strength and confidence._

_There is so much of the 14-year old girl that he once knew, and so much more that he doesn’t. He’s not surprised that she’s blossomed into an exquisite woman now. There’s a light about her that he finds himself drawn to._

_“Thank you. There was something in the air last night…I…can’t describe it. Almost like dancing was a matter of life and death.”_

_His eyes fly up to hers. “Look, I know this is really unexpected, but do you want to—” he shuffles a little, “—grab breakfast with me? I know a really great place that has sugar buns and bagels. Maybe you can tell me all about the dancing?”_

_She smiles. It’s been nearly half a lifetime since they ate together, how did he remember what she loves? “I’d really like that.”_

_***_

_After that perfect day, their friendship is picked up over emails, phone calls, FaceTime and texts. It’s fun and easy, the way it was between them before ice dance became more about winning and less about two kids who found kindred spirits in each other._

_They’ve fallen into a gentle rhythm of meeting each other whenever the other is in town. They always have accommodation planned, never overstepping the boundaries of a camaraderie that’s been recently resumed. Both tell themselves that it’s just happenstance, but every fork in Destiny’s garden is a choice, whether they diverge, branch out or reconnect, each determining future paths._

_This time finds them both back home visiting their families, who are thrilled when they learn of their renewed friendship._

_But it’s not quite friendship that drives them to seek the other out. It’s there, to be sure, the effortless intimacy that’s uncomplicated, comforting. But there’s also an undercurrent of something substantially deeper, something that hasn’t been forgotten, one that’s bubbling to the surface, determined to be dealt with._

_They’ve escaped the clutches of his family when Tessa comes to visit, bombarded with questions, embraces and tears. It’s overwhelming how much they love her, have missed her, Scott thinks, knowing what is demonstrated doesn’t nearly come close to what he feels in his heart. All those emotions, all those years ago, they’ve been brimming over the edge ever since his conversation with Death._

_They’re lying side-by-side on a plaid flannel blanket, looking up into the night sky. It’s something they used to do when they were children, so he’s driven them to one of the hay fields just outside town so they can stargaze under the cloak of darkness, far from any piercing light._

_It’s an unusually balmy May night, the air full and rich with the pungent, slightly tangy, earthy scent of hay. It’s cool enough for a light cover up, but warm enough not to get a chill._

_Scott points up at the twinkling nebulous masses, the belt of the Milky Way unveiling her stories one swirl at a time._

_“Tell me about that one,” her delicate fingers aiming at a bright constellation to the north._

_He twines his fingers with hers as he traces them out with his hand. “That’s known as the Northern Cross. But the constellation is called Cygnus.”_

_“Like the swan?”_

_They don’t talk about how they’re unexpectedly holding hands, or the way an electric charge courses through their bodies, but both can’t deny much longer the fact that their hearts are racing so much faster._

_“Exactly. The brightest star is called Deneb, which is Arabic for tail. It’s the tail of the swan, do you see?” he asks._

_“I do.”_

_They drop their hands back down in silence, but he still keeps her hand in his, close to his heart, thumbing warm, soothing strokes against her skin. He wonders if she can feel how quickly it beats for her._

_“I’m working on a solo piece called ‘The Swan’ for this season’s gala. It’s just beautiful, and the music...” she has to break their contact in order to rummage for her phone to play it to him._

_It’s Camille Saint-Saëns’ The Swan from The Carnival of Animals suite. Played on a solo cello with two accompanying pianos, the andantino grazioso tempo is deceptively naïve, but the melody along with its phrasing inflections are achingly complex and haunting._

_When the last note of the piano ends, Tessa explains, “Anna Pavlova danced to it over a century ago, inspired by Tennyson’s The Dying Swan. There’s not much left of the original choreography, but it’s what I’m trying to recreate.”_

_Scott shakes his head in disbelief. He tells her that he performed his Olympic Gala exhibition in PyeongChang to Il Volo’s ‘Notte Stellata’, a contemporary lyricised version of the music. It might be one of his favourite programmes._

_He plays it for her on his phone. The words are sung in Italian but the meaning is universal. It’s a serenade that speaks of the brilliant sky, how the stars are full of love for the lovers, how much he adores her, and how he already knows she loves him too._

_“It’s a sign,” he says in a low voice, as the strains of the operatic version soar around them._

_He’s resting his head on his palm, his elbow taking its weight. He’s looking down at her, where she’s eased her head in the folded cradle of her arms, turning her face to his. There are a million stars above them, but she is the only one he sees, a mirror of his own expression._

_“Of what?” she whispers._

_Like the legato of the music, he closes the gap between them, smooth, like a flowing river._

_“D’amore per noi.” Of love for us, echoing the promise of the song._

_Then he kisses her, the perfect kiss, one that’s been 22 years and an eternity in the making. It’s everything she imagined it to be - his gentle mouth warm, soft lips guiding hers open, seeking tongue finding hers in a dance that is at once tender and yearning. When they finally break apart, he finds her breathless and smiling against his own._

_“That’s some sign,” she sighs. She’s never been kissed like that before. Like a thunderbolt has run right through her veins._

_He wants to kiss her again, because he feels it too, but he thinks he can wait. Instead, he wraps his arms around her and holds her close._

_There’s so much he wants to say. He wants to apologise for the way he left her on that beautiful summer evening so many years ago. He wants to tell her how he thought of her every time he competed, how he wished she was with him at that very first Olympics, when he was going through his breakdown after Sochi, when he decided to comeback for Korea, and all the times he was lost after._

_So he does._

_She tells him of her injuries, her parents’ divorce, the eventual estrangement from her father, the desperate months of recovery after her surgeries that left her unsure if she could even dance again, let alone walk. She speaks of how she watched him through almost every major competition whenever she was able and how she held her breath during his comeback season, willing him to win every gold medal he could. She recounts how she cried tears of elation when he won at PyeongChang._

_“I was so happy for you. I don’t think I knew what joy was until Death came.”_

_His eyes widen in surprise. “Death came? To you?”_

_“My father—” she starts, “—when he passed three years ago. I was going to come watch you at Nationals but then he got into an accident. I had the strangest conversation with this woman. She seemed to know things. I felt like I knew her too, somehow.”_

_Scott blinks slowly, incredulous. She had come to Tessa too. Before him._

_“Didn’t you know? Death’s a real lady,” she jokes, but then chronicles the events that involved the stranger clad all in black, their heart-to-heart leading to a kind of reconciliation with her father, which opened her up to the possibilities of life without sorrow, perhaps even happiness._

_“I met her once,” he decides to reveal. “We spent a day together, just talking. She looked so much like you, I couldn’t refuse. I wanted to feel what it was like being with you again. I just...wanted to feel.”_

_This time it’s her who kisses him. It’s not gentle. It’s fierce, wholehearted, demanding. She’s lightning in a bottle._

_“Do you feel this?” she asks, as she pushes her hips up towards his pelvis._

_There are no words he can use to adequately express his desire, but also love, for her. So he nods with his forehead against hers, deepening their kiss once more. “Are you sure?”_

_“Never more.”_

_It’s all the affirmation he needs. When he undresses her carefully beneath the starlit northern sky, the slight nip in the air, or perhaps his feverish touch, raises goosebumps all along her porcelain white skin. They take their time exploring one another, both wanting to savour every moment they’ve missed over the years. When their bodies finally join, she almost dies a little death. It’s nothing she’s ever felt before, their union tender, yet all consuming and untamed, a magic spreading its smoky tendrils within their bodies, ascending into a kind of rapture._

_Death had been right, all along. They were meant to be. Soulmates, forged in the hearth of trust, shaped by the fire of the ages, hammered out by the trials of life, and scorched by a deep, transcendent love._

_***_

He shakes his head when he finally opens the door. “No.”

“No?” comes her quizzical reply. “That’s no way to greet a friend.”

“Not that I’m not happy to see you—I am—but no.”

She pushes her way through the small opening of the door, making a face, as if to say _What the f-?_

“I’m not ready. I’ve only just found her.”

She reaches out to him and smooths out his bowtie. “Relax. I’m not here for you.”

His eyebrows raise in a questioning motion. There’s a glimmer of fear too.

“Neither of you.”

He lets out a breath of relief he didn’t know he was holding. “Who then?”

“Do I need to have a reason to be here? I’m not always bringing about Destruction wherever I go, you know?”

“Ummm...” he tries to point out. “You certainly keep busy enough.”

“Oh shush,” she clucks, her fingers lowering down to the lapel of his suit. Then in a quieter tone, “I wanted to see you.”

His expression softens. “What for?”

“I come bearing gifts,” she teases.

“Free food?” he cracks, referencing her ability to freeload her way through life.

Her dark eyes sparkle. “Ha ha. Ever the joker, I see.”

“I know, flowers!” He turns serious then. “I’ve thought of you often. And about that day.”

“What of it?”

“How you changed my life. How you made me see. How you led me to her—” he lifts his eyes to hers, “—I can’t thank you enough.”

“None needed.”

“You knew, didn’t you?”

“That she was looking for you that day?”

He nods.

“She never stopped.”

It’s the answer he needs to confirm what he already thought. That fate had brought them together once again. That they were written in the stars from the very beginning, somehow.

They look at each other fondly remembering the 24 hours they had spent together almost two years ago.

“So...how do I look?” he asks nervously, wiping his clammy hands on his trousers.

“Peachy keen.”

He shrugs as if to say _aww shucks_. She looks different too. Older, if it were possible, except her youthful face has barely aged. Perhaps it’s what she’s wearing - a scalloped bodice of rich, black velvet, with a full Duchess satin skirt, finished off with a pair of red boots. She looks sophisticated, even more so with her hair sleek and parted in the middle.

“And you, are as striking as ever, Madame Mort,” he offers genuinely.

She winks back in thanks. “I like that you chose this place,” she comments, gesturing her arms as she looks around them.

“It’s kind of a special occasion. I’ve made my peace with it.” And he’s right. He looks serene. It’s the kind of quietude that comes from knowing oneself.

“It seems fitting. To find you in a house of god.”

“Isn’t it all, though?”

“Look at you go, Scooter,” she snarks. “I’m impressed.”

He shuffles his feet a little. “I spent too much time being angry at the wrong things. Being angry in general. Then I tried to numb it, but that didn’t work either. Love...and pain are a little inextricable.”

“The price of loving fully is also that we hurt deeply when it is or could be, taken from us.”

“It’s worth it though, isn’t it?” Scott asks.

Death bows her head sagely, thinking of how many mortals have taken lifetimes to come to this conclusion.

“Meeting you...was like wind in my sails again. And then Tess, she became my compass. My true north. Loving her is worth it. Being loved by her, even more so.”

Death’s lips tug into a small, almost secret smile.

“The way I’ve come to see it, you’re not Death. Not the way people think you are, anyway. You’re Life. You gave me mine back. You made me see that—how does that saying go—we have two lives, the second begins the moment we realise we only have one.”

“Stop it. You’re going to make me cry,” Death says softly. “Again.”

“C’mere,” he pulls her into a hug, sweet and loving. “You’d better save your tears for later,” he whispers. “I know I am.”

“You bloody mortals,” she sniffles against his chest.

They hold each other close for a long moment, Scott’s fingers massaging her lightly on her neck beneath her straight raven hair.

Death breaks the embrace at last, wiping at her face, “I’ve got to go take care of something but I’ll see you in a bit.”

He’d never thought he would end up here. Not so quickly after meeting her. But here he is.

This time he is sure. This time he knows in his bones that life doesn’t give you second chances twice.

***

_You would think he’d be used to it by now, the cold, having skated all his life, but wild ice skating is completely different. He loves it. It feels like you’re at the command of creation itself, under the shadow of the looming mountains. The wind whips around you, harsh and savage, and all you have are two thin blades balanced upon a sheet of ice that you can only hope is thick enough to support you._

_There’s only one thing better than skating outdoors, and that’s skating with Tessa. But they’d never done this before. In fact, they’ve perhaps even avoided skating together because of the weight of their history. It seemed important to carve a new path that wasn’t dependent on all that emotional attachment._

_It feels like the right time now. There’s only a small weather window between the lakes freezing up and being covered in snow, so by mid-November it’s perfect for a long weekend getaway. She’s flown up from her base in Toronto and he from Montreal, where he’s been coaching junior teams since the beginning of the year, but he’s already thinking of moving to where she is. He’s got an offer if he wants it._

_“What have you got up your sleeve, Moir?” as she flings herself at him when they reunite at the airport. They’ve been doing the weekend commute whenever they can, after all it takes only an hour plane ride or five by car, but it’s been sheer torture since that sublime night in May. They_ ’ _ve been apart for far too long this time and her heart aches from missing him._

_Her legs are wrapped around his waist, hands in his hair, lips upon lips, as he spins her around right in the middle of the arrival hall.  
_

_“Let’s just say keep this up and you’ll find out!” he laughs, an irrepressible delight radiating from his body. If there are people staring, they don’t care, so lost are they in the paradise of their own making._

_Lost is hardly the word he could describe what he feels in this moment. Found, is more apt. It’s unbelievable that only a year ago he had been adrift. She’s everything to him, and soon they’ll be where they first found their home in each other._

_The ice is like a living, breathing thing. They can hear the cracking, hissing and pops where it’s solidifying. The ice is so clear and mirror-like it’s almost black, but like the sounds, the colour keeps shifting. When the light of the sun reflects off the glassy plane in the distance, the frozen lake reminds him of a vivid green, like Tessa’s eyes, or stained glass windows._

_They move across the ice, silent, except for the clean sound of their blades. She may not have skated in the years since, but she’s still got it. It’s a symphony - the wind, the sound of their breath, the grind and scrape from the bite of their skates, the laser-like pings of the ice as they race over the recently frozen surface._

_Skating with Tessa is as if time had never passed. Her athleticism and sense of movement are so pure, it doesn’t matter if she’s a little rusty technically. Before long, she finds her edges and they are matched line for line, twin expressions of grace and power. He picks her up from where she’s skating beside him into a simple lift. It’s an embrace really, as he holds her body against his, their noses and foreheads touching, eyes and hearts connecting._

_When he puts her back down on to the ice, she winks and skates away leaving him to chase after her, as she makes a series of cross rolls, twizzles, a spiral and a layback spin. There’s a rush of exhilaration just watching her, one he hasn’t felt since the day he won gold in South Korea. They would have been unstoppable together. They still can._

_He would stay out here forever if he could, if it would always feel this way. Because when you distill it into the essence of a thing, she is the piano and he is the melody. And he wants to always be able to sing this song._

_“Ready?” he whispers, once he catches up to her._

_“Always,” comes her reply._

_He signals a transition into the preparation of a choreographic lift and she clasps both her hands around his neck._

_He spins around, letting the momentum lift and curl her around his body, then almost straightens to a parallel with the ice before he sinks into a sit spin, resting her on his knees. He surges up again and they spin for a moment, arms extended, before they both kneel together on the ice, while he rests his head against her breast, her fingers in his hair, hearts beating out of their chests._

_It’s tender and perfect._

_When she rises, he stays down on his knee, arms surrounding her waist. The moment he releases his hold, he takes her left hand and presents her with a delicate circlet of gold, dotted by diamonds and emeralds in the shape of a constellation._

_It’s Cygnus. The Swan._

_Graceful creatures that mate for life._

_He’s spent a lot of time thinking about what he would say when he asks her, but he knows that he wants to speak from the heart and not some rehearsed speech. Besides, he never really does well with scripts. So he says the words that he feels, knowing the sanctuary she provides him._

_“Someone asked me what I would have done if I didn't find skating, and it wasn't really skating, it was finding you. If I could turn back time, I’d find you sooner, and love you longer. But I’m here now, and I want to be, always, in this lifetime and the next._

_Will you marry me, Tessa Jane Virtue?”_

_They had reunited by the river on a chilly November morning, and now he’s asking her to be his forever on a lake when the earth has made its full journey around the sun. She’s his kiss of life, a breath of fresh air, known to him yet still full of wonderful mysteries and secrets that he wants to spend his life unravelling._

_The laugh-cry she makes is the only answer she has time for before he jumps up and scoops her into his arms, gripping so tightly, his hands already leaving red marks beneath her layers. When he slides the glittering band upon her finger, he knows he’s exactly where he’s meant to be._

_That night when they are bonded as lovers and soulmates, the sky dances for them in magnificent waves of green and gold._

_The colours of hope, magic and eternity._

_And somewhere out there, in the infinite space between life and death, darkness and dreaming, a pale figure robed in black smiles._

***

Another knock on the door.

This time it is Charlie. Finally.

“What’s the hold up?” Scott hisses.

“Uhhh...we have a problem.” Charlie wrings his hands.

Scott pales.

“No no no, nothing to do with Tessa, I promise. She still wants to marry you, although why anyone would want to do that, I have no idea! I told her to run when she gets the first chance, but she’s the real deal. Said there’s no way she’s losing you again.”

Charlie is an idiot. But he’s still his brother, and it’s a special day so he’ll refrain from doing anything drastic.

“What is it, then?” he presses urgently.

“For want of a better way of putting it, the priest...errr...he dropped dead.” A grimace.

Of course he did. That’s one of the reasons she’s here.

Charlie continues, “Looks like a heart attack. We’ve been told not to move the body from the chapel until the ambulance arrives, so...we might need to be a little flexible.”

Flexible is an understatement. Scott only hopes that the same news Tessa is receiving hasn’t put her into a panic. He needs to see her.

“Take me to her.”

“You know you can’t see her,” Charlie chides. “It’s bad luck!”

“Well, some people might think it’s bad luck for your priest to die on your wedding day, but hey, we’re going to have to work with what we’ve got.” The wheels are turning in Scott’s head. He has to take charge and figure this out.

Once Charlie fixes Scott’s cuff links, he leads him to the room where Tessa has been preparing. Charlie pops his head in, calling her name.

“No, I won’t go in,” he grabs at Charlie’s arm. “Tell her to stand just behind the door so I can talk to her from here.” Then he explains what the backup plan is, so that Charlie and the bridesmaids can execute while he allays Tessa’s fears.

They’re standing back to back, with only the door separating them. His entire body is like a live wire, a jolt of electricity sparking in his veins.

He reaches out his hand through the crack. She reaches out to hold it. She’s trembling too.

“Hey, kiddo,” his voice shaky with emotion. “You alright?”

“I am now,” she starts to cry.

“Don’t cry, baby, we’re going to fix this,” he rubs his thumb along the side of her wrist. He can’t see her, but he can feel her presence at his back, even through the door. She must look radiant.

“It’s not that. I don’t care about the priest, I mean, I’m sorry he’s gone, but I’m not freaking out about that. I’m just so happy you’re here.”

He knows what she means. Nothing else matters. Only the fact that their paths have led them here.

It’s a private moment between them amidst all the chaos. There’s a hush and they draw their breaths, in time with each other.

“I’m so excited to become your husband,” he whispers in a low tone.

He feels her squeeze his hand so tightly. “I can’t wait to be your wife,” she replies, her voice tremulous with sentiment.

He’ll remember this moment for the rest of his life.

When he leaves her with her sister Jordan, he quickly takes stock of the situation. Charlie has miraculously managed to find another officiant, and they’ve taken the chairs, flowers, candles and other decoration from the reception lunch hall outdoors to the garden. It’s actually a beautiful set-up, much brighter and more stunning than the dimly lit chapel.

Once the guests are seated, and there are only family and friends in attendance, Scott takes his place at the foot of a magnificent canopy of trees bathed in warm light and colour, and a circular arc altar made from pampas grass, fall foliage, and autumn blossoms. There’s a light breeze that lifts the air, rustling through the leaves, as if trying to extract the secrets of the world.

The replacement officiant meets him there. It’s Death, and she’s wearing a mischievous grin.

Because of course she is. He shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Please tell me you didn’t off the priest as your gift,” he says in exasperation.

She has the decency to look indignant. “Of course not. I don’t take any form of kicking the bucket lightly.” And then, “Do you trust me?”

He has to chuckle. “With my life.”

Death stretches out her arms to the side for dramatic effect. “Then let us begin.”

When Tessa walks down the makeshift aisle to the sounds of a cellist playing The Swan, Scott can barely keep it together. She’s a vision in ivory, her wedding dress a minimalist column silk faille creation with a plunging neckline and a large structured bow at the back. She’s countered the clean lines of her dress with a soft chignon, hidden beneath a gauzy Juliet cap fingertip-length veil and a crown of gypsophila; her makeup soft and neutral, and a stunning bouquet of warm autumn blooms in her hands.

She’s only got eyes for Scott, who’s attired in a sleek black tuxedo, complete with bowtie and a boutonnière to match her bouquet. His dark hair curls a little at his forehead and the nape of his neck, the way she loves, and his amber eyes are shining with tears he’s trying so hard not to shed.

As she reaches him, he kisses her cheek softly, whispering how she was worth the wait, their hands slipping into their special hold.

It takes her a full minute before she realises that Death stands right before them. Scott’s calm and tender touch assures her for the second time today, the way she will always seek when she’s uncertain. It doesn’t matter that the day’s plans have changed, all that matters is him and her and the life that they will begin together. Death may be here, but like the last time they met, there is only a sense of peace, comfort and knowing. She’s here to celebrate life.

While she prefers to work in the shadows, there are moments— precious and rare— when the need to be in the light supersedes all else.

Although Scott and Tessa had decided on a simple ceremony with their priest, all bets are now off due to his untimely demise. No one is quite sure how this mysterious figure in black will perform the rite.

But Death does not disappoint. She’s been planning this for some time now.

Her voice rings out sonorous and true as she welcomes the gathering in an opening address. “In Celtic tradition, there is a special understanding of love and friendship. It is the idea of ‘soul-love’. The old Gaelic term for this is ‘Anam Cara’ - Anam meaning soul, and Cara, the word for friend.

Soulmates are forged, not found, and today we are witness to the forging of these two souls to each other for eternity.”

She takes their right hands, clasping them around the wrists so that their pulse points are touching. She then places a long tartan ribbon over their hands; it’s the Moir family tartan, deep green, pale and dark blues with white lines, one that’s been embroidered with the family motto ‘Virtute Non Aliter’.

Scott looks up at Death with wonder and gratitude. This is her gift to them. It’s an ancient hand-fasting ceremony, an old Scottish highland tradition, to honour his ancestry. Finding its origin in paganism, it is a ritual of deep intent. At the hands of Death, it is magical and powerful.

“Know now before you go further, that since your souls have crossed in this life you have formed eternal bonds. The promises made today and the ties that are bound here will strengthen your union, for they will cross the years and lives of each soul's growth. Do you seek to enter this ceremony?”

“We do,” they reply in unison.

“Do you both offer each other your dreams, fidelity, trust, honesty, respect and understanding?”

Scott nods his head, his heart blooming with a sense of duty and pride, one that says it’s not just his life that weighs in the balance any longer, but theirs, together. “We do.”

“And so the binding is made.” Death ties a loop around their hands.

“Will you share each other’s pain and seek to ease it?”

“We will,” they both look into the eyes of the other, speaking without words, promising above the promise before them that they will never abandon the other to pain again.

“And so the binding is made.” Another circle around their hands, the second knot bound.

“Will you take the heat of anger and use it to temper the strength of this union?”

“We will.” They know only too well what the passion and flame of anger brings, so they vow to transform it into a positive force.

Death loops the third knot around their hands. “And so the binding is made.”

“Do you vow to love and cherish each other always, keeping sacred above all else, the place your hearts hold for one another?”

“We do.” Tessa looks into the warm brown eyes of the man standing in front of her, and she knows that this is her wish come true, the one she had whispered into the wind, at the edge of a dock when she was 14, eyes tear-stung from heartbreak.

“And so the binding is made.” The last knot is tied, and there’s a tingle in both their veins where they are hand fasted.

“As your hands are bound together now, so too are your lives and souls joined in a union of love and trust. The bond of marriage is not formed by these cords, but rather by the vows you have made. For always, you hold in your own hands the fate of this union. Above you are stars and below you is earth. Like stars your love should be a constant source of light, and like the earth, a firm foundation from which to grow.

By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you married.”

“Till Death do us part,” Scott can’t help but sneak in.

“Till Death do us part,” Tessa repeats, with a tiny smile. It’s morbid, but not, because she doubts that Death herself could keep them divided across existences, now that a sprinkling of her power flows in them both.

When the newlyweds kiss to seal their destiny, the one that’s been woven with the threads of time, love, dreams and fate, teardrops begin to fall from Death’s dark eyes. But it turns out she isn’t the only one. There’s nary a dry eye under the resplendent autumn _arbres,_ sun-kissed earth and wide open skies.

It’s worth it, though - this matter of loving fully. She’s never felt her power, immortality and solitude more than in this moment, all the more tempered by the fragility of the brief, yet full lives around her.

***

Their limbs are entwined, legs, hands, fingers. Even in the darkness, she can see the outline of their bodies, the soft rise and fall of their breaths, finding a placid cadence after the quick thunderous crash of heartbeats not too long prior in the rush of their fiery lovemaking.

They are beautiful, her mortals, the ones she’s shepherded in order to find the paths of their destiny. It’s been months since she saw them last and she feels a dull throb within her ribcage, a feeling that would signal the emotion of loss or absence were she human.

Because what does she know of love? Or marriage. Nothing. All she knows is what she’s seen or read by writers, who are the keepers of truth.

So what has she learnt? Only that there are beasts in the night, and delight and pain, and the only thing that makes it bearable, sometimes, is the hand in the darkness to hold and not be alone.

That it’s never just the kisses, it’s what they mean. That someone knows your worst self and somehow doesn’t want to rescue you, or send the army to rescue them.

It’s not two broken halves becoming one. For it’s the light from a distant lighthouse bringing both safely home because home is wherever you are both together.

She knows nothing, like a book without pages or a forest without trees. Because there are things you cannot know before you experience them.

Because no study can prepare one for the joys or the trials. Because nobody else’s love, nobody else’s marriage, is like another’s, and it is a road you can only learn by walking it, a dance you cannot be taught, a song that did not exist before you began, together, to sing.

And because in the darkness you will reach out a hand, not knowing for certain that someone else is even there. And your hands will meet, and then neither will ever need to be alone again.

And that is all she knows about love.

They are no longer hers to keep, she recognises, even as she accepts the certainty of meeting them again. One day.

She watches them for a quiet moment before she speaks in an ancient tongue.

Then she whispers one word. “Begin.”

And so Life does.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for coming on this journey with me. Little did I know that my Spooktober chapter would evolve into a trilogy but I really enjoyed writing this universe. Please let me know what you loved, either here in the comments or on Twitter at @lapetitemort20 x


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